


Christmas Is For Lovers (In Japan)

by asphodellae



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Also: Holiday Jazz-Pop, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flirting on stage, Fluff, Getting Together, I'm so sorry, Jazz Pianist Sakusa Kiyoomi, Jazz Singer Miya Atsumu, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, jazz musicians, ya like jazz?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodellae/pseuds/asphodellae
Summary: He’s just barely hovering over Kiyoomi, not touching his body at all, and the only thing that Kiyoomi can feel behind him is Atsumu, radiating body heat. Kiyoomi is only touching the piano, but this feels more intimate than he ever has been.Or: Atsumu flirts with his accompanist on stage, and it goes about as well as one would expect it to.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 135





	Christmas Is For Lovers (In Japan)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iitachiyama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iitachiyama/gifts).



> Christmas isn't really a religious holiday in Japan. It's something closer to Valentine's Day. It's normal to see couples milling about the touristy parts of cities, enjoying the winter weather and the lovey-dovey atmosphere. Christmas in Japan is more of a romantic holiday than anything else.
> 
> Song used in the fic: _Snowman_ by Sia

This is it.

This is a culmination of everything Sakusa Kiyoomi has worked for as a jazz pianist. Japan is watching him— _them_ , actually, because Miya Atsumu, Hyogo’s best and brightest rookie jazz singer, is here too. They’re on stage performing “Snowman” by Sia, a jazz-pop holiday song together, which had been a request straight from the show’s directors. 

It’s fine. Kiyoomi is a professional; he knows how to embellish on stage. _Unfortunately_ , so does Atsumu.

Atsumu is flirting with him.

Atsumu glances back at Kiyoomi every time he sings “baby” and Kiyoomi knows, he _knows_ , but they’re in the middle of a performance, and Atsumu—

Atsumu is taking the mic and being even more dramatic than he usually is. He’s draping himself onto Kiyoomi, but also not. He’s just barely hovering over Kiyoomi, not touching his body at all, and the only thing that Kiyoomi can feel behind him is Atsumu, radiating body heat. Kiyoomi is only touching the piano, but this feels more intimate than he ever has been.

It's uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, Kiyoomi can hear an occasional rustle or cough, sometimes a person even drops their phone, but none of that fills Kiyoomi's ears. If Kiyoomi were blind, he would think that the concert hall is currently empty, save for the piano in front of him, and Atsumu's sweet baritone. For the record, the audience is _there_ , but they are stunned into silence watching the two men on stage. Watching _them_. Forget about the music—it’s just a conduit for the confession that’s happening right on the stage. Worse, they were _invited here_ —this is a showcase of “Japan’s best rookie jazz artists.” This is on national television. _They are on national television._

Not to mention, this is a Christmas broadcast. Christmas is for lovers in Japan. Kiyoomi is going to combust before the song is over. How is Atsumu alive right now? Does he not realize exactly what he’s doing?

Meanwhile, Atsumu knows exactly what he’s doing.

Yes, he does. Promise. But his life is also flashing in front of his eyes; because either Kiyoomi kills him backstage after this performance, or he accepts his confession. At this point, both outcomes feel a little like dying.

My snowman and me,  
my snowman and me... baby.

Speaking of dying, the song just ended, and Kiyoomi can’t breathe. But he’s a professional, so he and Atsumu smile at each other—Kiyoomi’s eyes holding an emotion he dare not name on stage or national television—and take their bows.

For a moment, the audience sits in stunned silence. Then, one clap sounds like an alarm, and then all at once, thunderous applause washes over them.

Kiyoomi registers none of it. Atsumu glances at him, eyes sparkling, horribly, terribly, damningly _fond_ , and the audience just gets louder.

Neither of them hears it.

The announcer thanks them, praising them for a “moving” performance—Sakusa scoffs inwardly at that, because what the _hell is happening right now_ —and the final round of applause sounds throughout the concert hall.

A stage worker directs them off the stage, and together they shuffle dazedly to their dressing room.

The door closes, both men politely thanking the crewperson. Then, Kiyoomi locks the door, whirling around to face the singer.

“Ats—“

“I have a crush on you. I have a really big, gay crush on you, Omi.”

Kiyoomi blinks. There’s a film over his eyes somehow, and everything around him goes a little blurry except for Atsumu. The warm lighting in the dressing room casts long shadows on the blonde’s face, and it feels straight out of a movie.

Hope coats Atsumu’s expression. It is saccharine and the gravity of his gaze pulls Kiyoomi _in, in, in,_ and it feels good. It feels right.

Christmas is for lovers in Japan. Is this what it’s like?

“I don’t know how it got this bad. I just—we got the song, and I know I have a history of dramatizing love songs, but it felt right—“

Oh god.

“—to think of you. And it kept happening. And... it didn’t seem like you minded.”

Kiyoomi thinks of the day they began working together on this piece.

* * *

It was awful. They were out of sync, the piano didn’t feel right, and on top of all of that, Kiyoomi had been having a bad week. He’d been too far into his own head and ended up taking it out on Atsumu.

Kiyoomi had yelled and yelled, about everything and nothing. Atsumu stood there, expression unreadable, and when Kiyoomi was done, he realized what he did.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry Miya. I—“

“Bad week?” Atsumu said softly, ever the perceptive one, “I say let’s cut practice short—“

_What? Cut practice short?! But they only have a month before the performance and—_

“—and spend the day relaxing. Let’s get to know each other. That’ll help us get in sync.”

“Uh,” Kiyoomi began, “I... okay. I’m so sorry again for my outburst. It wasn’t your fault.”

Atsumu smiled softly at him. “I know.”

_Uh???_

“So,” Atsumu’s smile shifted into something mischievous and knowing, “I have a Steinway at my house. Do you wanna—“

“Yes.”

“Let’s go, then.”

* * *

Kiyoomi and Atsumu had spent that evening lounging on Atsumu’s couch, watching holiday movies for the sake of their song, making fun of the romance when it didn’t make sense, and then quietly cheering when it worked out. They’d made hot chocolate with mini marshmallows on top. Kiyoomi had gotten to play Atsumu’s Steinway. The keys had felt just right, and Kiyoomi had played and played until he didn’t feel the need to cry anymore.

Don't cry, snowman, don't you shed a tear  
Who'll hear my secrets if you don't have ears, baby?

Kiyoomi had told Atsumu everything that night, and Atsumu had comforted him.

Practice the next day had gone perfectly.

Then the next, and the next, and the next. They visit each other regularly now. Atsumu’s umbrella is in his house’s entryway. There’s an extra jacket of his there too, neatly stored in the entryway closet just like Kiyoomi had asked him to. Atsumu has a little drawer in his home’s entryway and it is exclusively filled with items that belong to Kiyoomi.

Since when had they become so domestic?

It feels right. Oh, god, it feels more than right. It’s perfect. What the hell.

Atsumu stands before him, looking ready to cry, and Kiyoomi realizes that he’s been silent for the last minute.

“Be my boyfriend,” Kiyoomi wheezes, rocketing back to Earth from his thoughts.

Every bit of tension visibly leaves Atsumu’s body, and he deflates a little. “You almost gave me a heart attack, Omi. I thought you were going to kill me.”

Finally, _finally_ , Kiyoomi laughs. “No, Atsumu. I—my feelings just hit me like a truck. You’re fine.”

Atsumu barks a laugh at that, incredulous. “Are _you_ fine?”

“Honestly, no. It’s not every day you realize your life is a holiday romance movie. Also, give me an answer. Please,” Kiyoomi says, a little breathless.

Atsumu beams at him. “Of course I’ll be your boyfriend, Omi.”

* * *

_Boyfriends_ , Kiyoomi thinks later that night, Atsumu’s arms wrapped around him. The other man is a human heater, and Atsumu’s soft snores tickle the back of Kiyoomi’s neck.

It suits them. It feels good. It feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this jazzy little brain-rot of mine! I appreciate you taking the time out of your day. I originally wrote this as an immensely long thread on Twitter in response to a friend tweeting:
> 
> "jazz singer miya atsumu and jazz pianist sakusa kiyoomi"
> 
> My brain took one look at this, glanced at Sia's music, and then _sprinted_ away from me, concepts in hand like a burglar with a sack of cash. I can only hope I captured it well enough.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Come scream about SakuAtsu with me on Twitter. ([@ASPHODELLAE](https://twitter.com/ASPHODELLAE))


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